Déjà You
by Nyte Quill
Summary: Déjà vu is the sensation that we've met someone or been somewhere before. If you have the feeling that you have been someone else before, does that make it déjà you? And if you're always you, can you always find the same person to love? from the fantastically strange film the Nines. rated T to be on the safe side. Contains spoilers for the film. Final chapter is up.
1. Gary & Margaret

_"She's the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry. Still you don't regret a single day…"_

There are times we have the sensation that we've met someone before or been somewhere before; this sensation is commonly known as déjà vu. If you have the feeling that **_you_** have been someone else before, does that make it déjà you? If the threads of a different life, some parallel existence in some parallel dimension, being tangling up with the ones you're currently following, can you feel it? If they simply run along a similar line, never tying together but simply brushing here and there as they run side by side, does that affect you too?

Gary had made love to Margaret exactly once. They were out of breath, having worked off an impressive amount of steam, energy, and pent-up everything bouncing around in the inflatable castle he'd had delivered that morning. They were in their pajamas, like some bizarre sleepover game, him in well worn flannel and a plain tee, her in bright paisley satin. She was softness and sensuality and the sunlight filtering through the colored plastic had a stained glass effect on the air as riotous bursts of red and blue played across their faces.

They were lying side by side catching their breath, staring up at the ceiling, when she'd turned a bit and curled against him. One arm left its post of cushion beneath his head and curled around her shoulders, tugging her closer and giving her a slight squeeze. Her arm had draped across his stomach in reply, pinky gently teasing the inch of skin peeking in the gap between his clothes. The first twitch had been ignored, the second had been noticed and a shy teasing became a five-fingered tickle. He thrashed and scooted, trying unsuccessfully to dodge her before tossing out a mental "the hell with this" and simply rolling over, pinning her beneath him. Hard muscled planes were cradled by pliant curves, an extra voluptuous woman who at the moment could only wiggle her fingers, toes and the end of her nose. They were breathing hard again, though for a slightly varied bank of reasons than before. Exertion and excitement were warring right now, and belatedly Gary realized his erection was very plain through the thin layers that separated them.

It wasn't a conscious thought, not even an act of will, but rather a foregone conclusion of unconscious action when he dipped his head and caught her lips in a kiss. It was soft, warm and sweet; everything she was. His hands skimmed up her arms to rest beneath her shoulders, and her now freed limbs wrapped around his neck to draw him nearer. Gary had had his share of flings, models and "actresses" and bitchy clingy hangers-on whose dress size was only slightly above their IQs (though rarely was either number above a single digit); never had a simple kiss excited him so much. Girls who were paid to know what to do, even the "innocent" ones who still always managed to reveal a perceptiveness borne of experience rather than compatibility, had not wrung such an instantaneous reaction.

They were kissing, making out like teenagers and every second was turning him on more than the last. He wasn't sure how it was possible, except that in the core of his being, he had the strangest sensation of familiarity. It was as though he'd known her for years, instead of less than a week, and that they were simply fitting together as they had done in some past time.

They made love in a bed of paisley satin and warm worn cotton, the net walls and backyard mostly shielding them from view, the bouncy floor cushioning and providing a trampoline assistance when things became vigorous. Happy, warm, and decidedly familiar. It was a good feeling and one Gary was not keen to let go of… much like the sleeping woman in his arms.

**Author's Note: there will be a part 2 and a part 3, same as the movie. this is mostly my own, but part 3 will contain spoilers for part 3 of the film.**

**If you liked it, even if you didn't, feel free to leave a review. I like reviews.**


	2. Gavin & Melissa

Gavin was, to use the vulgar vernacular, gay as a Maypole in June. And his best friend, affectionately referred to as his 'hag', was a bursting at the seams blonde named Melissa. Gavin never saw her as fat or obese, and had been known to threaten violence on people who did; she was simply full of life and love. She was the definition of voluptuous, gorgeous and curvaceous and sassy, Mae West with a modern twist, a big girl who loved hard and hugged soft.

He was commonly referred to as her gay husband, something even her actual husband Ben seemed okay with. Clothes, cappuccino makers, diets, drinks, home interiors and hair care were all Gavin's department; sex and moral support were Ben's.

Yet one thing Ben didn't know and hopefully never would was that one night a few years ago, he and Melissa had in fact gone all the way. It had been once, when the idea of _Knowing_ had first popped into his head. They'd been lying in bed together during one of their frequent sleepovers (comfy pajamas, alcohol and old movies were consistent components) and after a few too many margaritas, he began contemplating for no reason at all, the name Margarita/Margherita (a play on Margaret) and some thought he couldn't shake crept in and whispered that Melissa had been his Margaret in some other life and time. The more he stared at her, the more he lost himself in those deep amber eyes, and the more he saw of her.

As the thought persisted, he'd begun to question his sexuality- something he'd had a core certainty about since age 12.

When he kissed her as he usually did, she didn't pull away. When he kissed her again, she became aware it was not liquor lubricated PDA, not some alcohol induced affection but that he was kissing her. He was **_kissing_** **_her_****.**

Had she asked, he would've attempted to explain that there was a reason for all this. That he needed to test this, see if he still was who he thought he was, who he'd always been. But she didn't ask, and he didn't question why.

Sex had progressed gently, and of course they'd used protection. She wants a kid, he'd love to be a dad, but they couldn't do that to Ben.

The following morning, he'd awoken to her head on his chest and the confirmation that he was indeed still gay. He'd lain without moving, listening to her breathing, aware that their breath was oddly in sync despite disparate states of consciousness. He was gay and that felt right, but there was something about her in his arms, waking up knowing they'd made love the night before, that felt equally right.

**Author's Note: part 2 up. Part 3 on its way. You know the drill: like it, love it or not, leave a review.**

**Final warning about part 3: if you don't want the film's ending spoiled, don't read it. **


	3. Gabriel & Mary

After the trying escapade in the canyon, they'd come home and put Noelle to bed. Questions were not asked, answers were not given. They showered separately, got ready for bed, and brushed their teeth side by side. When he slips in beside her, he takes her in his arms. She awakens, not having been completely asleep but drifting in that twilight region, and turns to face him. The look on his face, the deep emotion she can see in his eyes even in the near darkness, is compelling, and conveys a longing to which she instantly responds.

Gabriel knows somehow, deep in the heart of him, that this is the last time he'll make love to his wife. He pours everything he feels and everything he's not saying into this time with her. By necessity (Noelle is probably wiped out enough to sleep through anything, but they're used to trying to be quiet enough not to wake her), it's gentle quiet, but still oddly intense. It is a union of souls, an intimate binding together in a way it hasn't quite been for a while. There is no doubt they love each other, but the certainty radiating between them, the physical affirmation of the affection right now is breathtaking.

When they're finished, she drifts back to sleep, her head resting on his chest, his arms aching to hold her forever. He stares at the ceiling, wondering what to do. Finally he takes a deep breath, kisses his slumbering wife's forehead, and slips out of the bed. Moving silently, he retrieves his pajamas from the floor, re-donning them before heading downstairs. He wants to think, to absorb, to breathe in all the little instances of his life here.

He's standing in the living room, the pale hush of the pre-dawn bringing him less peace than being in the arms of the woman he's left upstairs. A quiet creak of the floorboards behind him makes him turn to see his plainly beautiful wife standing just inside the doorway. The thin rimmed glasses make her eyes shimmer in the soft light, and everything in him wants to be held in her arms and smell the clean scent of her soft cotton pajamas and have her smooth his hair the way she does when he needs comfort.

"You need to go… don't you?"

He draws a deep breath before answering, attempting to force some authenticity into the statement. "No… I can stay." And the truth was he would if he could. He would stay in this life, if he could be with her.

"For how long? Forever? Every day you'd be here, knowing what you were missing. You couldn't. It wouldn't be fair."

He plows a hand through his shorn hair, holding the back of his head in frustration. "It's not fair now. I like this world. I like my life here… with you and Noelle. It makes me happy."

Her voice is gentle, but firm, like when their daughter wants extra dessert or he's obsessing over a minor game detail and needs to go to bed. "I know. But it's not real. I'm not really your wife. And you're not really my husband. On some level, it's all pretend."

His gaze catches on a glass tile frame she'd made last year, holding a picture of them on Noelle's first day of school. Taken in the early morning on the front lawn, they're all still in their pj's, a beaming Noelle seated on her parents' collective lap since she'd refused to have breakfast unless the momentous occasion was documented. He remembers that day, as well as he could remember anything.

She continues in that soft tone, the words resting on his shoulders as she wills him to turn and look at her. "It's a wonderful idea, a sweet fiction, but ultimately… we're too smart not to know what needs to happen." She probes him gently for details, wanting the sparest of information about the other lives he's known, but when he starts beating himself up over it, she stops him.

"You don't have to explain… or apologize. Everything that is, is because of you. And if that's all there is…" and here her voice begins to quaver from the tears filling her eyes as the enormity of the emotion in this moment breaks on her like a wave, "that's enough."

On that pronouncement, he turns, and the telltale moisture under his own eyes is revealed. There is no desperate bid for continuation, no frantic pleas for a stay; instead she resorts to that quiet humor she knows he loves, a last moment of normal for him to take along. "So… I guess you don't really need to pack anything." A faint smile ghosts about his mouth as he replies, "No… I'm good."

The sobs are barely stifled now, causing the slightest of hitches in her speech. "You're great… and it has been… a pleasure."

"Likewise," he rejoins, a watery grin breaking momentarily before that serious little twitch appears between his eyebrows, and he states simply, earnestly, "I love you."

If it were any other circumstance, she'd giggle, but as it is, she's barely keeping the tears streaming down her face from increasing their flow. In the sensitive stillness between them, she whispers, "I love you too… ya big lug."

Their lips meet in the definition of a goodbye kiss: brief, emotionally charged, sweetness cut with the faint extract of heartache and tears. Any other day in their life, her hand would touch his cheek, curl around his neck and hold him close, but today she holds back, and when the kiss is over, they press their lips together to savor the essence of the other, the last taste of this shared existence.

He steps back, measuring the distance between them in inches and heartbeats and things that will remain forever unspoken… except for one. "You were my favorite." With that, he snaps the woven green band on his wrist, and watches as his carefully constructed world pulls itself apart… and a warm light bears him away from the woman he has always loved.

**Author's Note: so that's it. Parts 1&2 were mostly my own creation, but [spoilers] this is pretty much verbatim of the film's conclusion. I still cry when I watch it, and still cry when I read this. I don't even mind that no one's reading; I just felt like writing it.**


End file.
